


The Burning of the World

by Ireth_Isilra



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 23:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ireth_Isilra/pseuds/Ireth_Isilra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene, Sherlock and Jim. And the last days of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Burning of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сгорание мира](https://archiveofourown.org/works/744215) by [Julia_Devi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julia_Devi/pseuds/Julia_Devi)



> This fic sets after ASiB, as an alternative apocalyptic reality…. It might be considered a little ambiguous, but it worked in my mind and I hope you enjoy as well. Also:
> 
> The characters here are property of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and these versions in particular, are also owned by BBC, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, I DO THIS JUST FOR FUN

_The world was going to end one day; it was a fact that no person could deny, no matter how hard they tried. It was the natural order of things: something is created, that something grows, evolves, and slowly, very slowly all the strength it gained in its youth is taken away from it until, after years of agony it becomes nothing, the same way it all began. Everyone knows that when the first living thing existed, death was already there waiting._

_Or at least, they knew it. Just as they knew they were going to die. And they were going to die still young, most likely, given the nature of their professions… But what none of them would have expected, not even in their wildest dreams, was that the last moments of their lives, the last breaths and words they would say in this pathetic reality, would be for each other._

_The consulting detective at the right, the woman who beat him in the middle and the consulting criminal that introduced them to the left._

_The three of them united in a tight embrace._

_Watching the world burn._

I

Jim knew his life was coming to an end the very day he stepped into the 221C of Baker Street and left Carl Power’s shoes for Sherlock to find them. He couldn’t have been more relieved. People was growing dull, work was growing dull, even Sherlock himself was growing dull, with his domestic life and his pet army doctor. Life was static when everything he ever cared for was dynamic. He needed a way out.

But he also needed to know that he wasn’t alone. He needed to know that he hadn’t given his entire life for someone who didn’t deserve it. He needed to know if Sherlock Holmes and himself were one and the same person as he had always believed they were. And then, just then, he could die at peace. Hell! He could even shoot himself in the face and die with a smile in his lips, knowing that someday Sherlock would follow him into nothingness for them to be one, at last.

He always liked dramatics entries. A dramatic exit was just a matter of time.

He never imagined the sun had other plans.

Oh! Stars were such unpredictable things. Jim would know. He was an astronomer in his free time; the best of their field. He had read every single book about the subject that had ever existed, and then he turned them upside down and wrote his own conclusions. Still in his notes, stars were tricky little bastards: A tired star, expanding, starting to devour every single planet that once turned around it; it's the greatest treason a celestial body can commit, kill the ones they love the most, just before dying. And it was exactly what he was planning to do with Sherlock before the sun went and stole his idea.

He laughs to that thought. He always loved stars for a reason.

\---

_He spent years watching the skies, studying them and cataloguing them._

_He realizes, the last day of his life, he could have spent the same amount of time watching Sherlock’s eyes, and he still would not be certain about their color._

II

Irene always thought of herself as a woman of wits. Everything she does is done for a reason, and getting to Sherlock isn’t different at all. She needs political asylum, Jim needs to annoy Mycroft Holmes, and it looks like a win-win situation. She never thought feelings could be a problem.

She remembers her mother sometimes, always-perfect Mrs. Adler, with her singing voice and gorgeous eyes. “Insanity is contagious, my dear”, she used to say. “If you spend enough time with mad people, you’ll end up mad as well”, and then she would laugh for hours in the little prison cell she had earned for killing her husband. Irene was left alone when she was still in her teens, and the world enjoyed pain way too much. She just used that knowledge on her behalf.

But how much time did she spend with mad people? How much time is needed to be as mad as them? Years in her profession never gave her problems, but months receiving text messages about Sherlock form James Moriarty did? She’s scared of these new-found feelings, they had ruined everything once, they could do it again. They’re a weakness and she knows that; she used to be a woman of wits, not of feelings. So… is she going mad?

When the news about the solar explosions reaches her ears, she knows she could find a way to be part of the people on that super secret bunker the United States has. She could survive if she wanted to.

Irene can only think about Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty. She makes up her mind: she’s coming back to England. And she’s definitely insane.

\---

_The night before the end they go to bed together for first and last time._

_They reduce themselves to a mass of limbs and sighs and moans and pleasure, and nothing else matters._

_While they touch her, reverent, slow and a bit too shy for her taste; while she kisses them, enjoying how different their mouths taste; while they look each other in the eye forgetting for a minute of her..._

_Irene knows she had made the right choice._

III

Sherlock isn’t someone who is very fond of life. In fact, if everyone stayed alive, he wouldn’t have any job to do and that, ironically, would kill him. He needs death. And he likes it, perhaps even more than he likes life itself.

But the day his brother comes with the news about the solar explosions, Sherlock finds death is just compelling when it’s not happening to the ones he cares about. Of course Mycroft, being who he is, had already found a way to survive. He lends Sherlock a plane ticket and an ID with his name, granting full access to “Legacy” project.

He isn’t even very sure of what Legacy project is about, but is a way of surviving to their imminent deaths, and suddenly he doubts if he wants to avoid it. What were the chances for a consulting detective to get a real case on a colony full of narcissistic politicians who would do anything in order to stay alive? As he thought before, he needed death, and Legacy didn’t seem a good place to find it. He would probably just end up killing himself the first year.

He gives the ticket and the ID back to his brother. “Give them to John”, he says as he takes his violin and starts playing Bach. “He’ll probably use the chance more wisely than I would”.

His brother seems surprised, but does not argue. Sherlock wonders if Mycroft’s mind sees all the factors that leaded to that decision, or if he believes this is one last act of selflessness.

“And where are you going to run?” asks the older Holmes, always trying to sound polite. Sherlock just keeps playing music, as he goes nearby the window.

“To the Devil” he answers; a smile on his lips that he wishes his brother does not notice “I have a few hands to shake in hell”.

\---

_He knows them now, as he never thought he would. He knows, for example, that Jim likes mathematics and astronomy; he knows that Irene wanted to be a singer, as her mother; he knows that both blame their families for their flaws and that the three of them verge on the thin line between genius and madness._

_The sun is going down when he realizes that they only have twenty-four hours to live._

_‘You know? I hope Hell is half as fun as this was’, he thinks, and it's a joke, but the words escape form him without even noticing that he said it out loud. Irene’s arms are holding him close seconds later, and Jim’s hand is reaching his, intertwining their fingers together._

_“It’s going to be” whispers Irene’s voice in his ear; and Jim’s smile is so bright, he can’t do anything else but trust them._

**Author's Note:**

> This goes with a special dedicatory to ioweyouafall (tumblr) and dynamics-of-an-asteroid (tumblr), for their general awesomeness; for making the Sherlock fandom a better place one comment and graphic at the time; and for making me ship this OT3 and the Sherlock/Moriarty pairing to the point they have consumed every aspect of my life.
> 
> Also thanks to my beta holmes—sweet—holmes (tumblr).


End file.
